


Silence Doesn't Last Forever | Trade for 123penguin64 (TH)

by Avistella



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avistella/pseuds/Avistella
Summary: “And so Xiǎomíng left that hellish place with silence following after him in the shadows, lurking in the corners of his overworked mind, and it was suffocating.”





	Silence Doesn't Last Forever | Trade for 123penguin64 (TH)

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for writing trade for 123penguin64 (Toyhou.se)  
I do not claim ownership to any of the characters featured in this work. All characters belong to 123penguin64.

There is something about the dead silence that unsettles the young blond, Xiǎomíng. He can’t decide if he’s thankful for it or if he _fears_ it. To this day, he can still hear the ringing in his ears as gunfire and explosives go off one by one on the field. _His creations_. He can still hear the agonized screaming of _people_—not enemies. He has to remind himself to refer to them as such to retain some sense of his humanity for his own sake. _Innocent people like him who merely didn’t have a choice but fight to survive._

The air would be polluted with smoke, permeated by the smell of gunpowder, blood, and decaying corpses abandoned on the field to be forgotten. The earth would rumble with heavy vibrations of scrambling feet, both in pursuit and in retreat, and explosives being set off with the usual debris being blown about. And then there was the screaming. The ceaseless screaming. The barking of orders. The pleading of mercy. The crying for loved ones. The cursing of whatever god was out there for forsaking all of them.

Then… There was silence.

To Xiǎomíng, silence was something akin to the sound of victory, but only because he was left alive in the end. A _survivor_. For the others who fell by his own calloused and bloodied hands, whether directly or indirectly, and those that were associated with the recently departed, silence was the sound of shattered hope. Of innocence lost. Of a future gone from their grasp. _Gone, gone, gone._ There was nothing left.

And so Xiǎomíng left that hellish place with silence following after him in the shadows, lurking in the corners of his overworked mind, and it was suffocating. It was a reminder of everything that he had taken—_stolen_, he criticizes himself with a wry laugh—from people who may or may not have deserved to be stolen from in the first place. There are nights in which he’d wake up in a cold sweat, eyes shot wide open to stare at the ceiling above him with his lips parted in a soundless scream that shakes him to his very core.

And he would just lie there in bed, trembling like the child he is before anger and frustration start to take over, both towards himself and the life he’s led so far. To be so young and have so much taken away was something beyond words. Words of hated and guilt and fear and so many other things swirling inside his head like a storm that he has no choice but to clutch at his hair for some relief. And he has to remind himself: _he’s alive_. He’s alive, and that’s all that matters now.

* * *

Xiǎomíng blinks repeatedly in surprise and slight confusion when he’s brought back to the present by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor in front of him. He must have dozed off in his seat, he realizes as his eyes watch his friend sit across the table from him.

Slowly, he remembers where he is: a quaint little café to meet up and hang out with his friend. It’s already late in the afternoon, but there are very few patrons, and the smell of sweets, baked bread, and coffee fills Xiǎomíng.

He scrunches up his nose in dissatisfaction. It’s a distinct difference from all the scent of ash and gunpowder that’s he’s so accustomed to. It almost makes him uncomfortable, but he pushes that feeling aside for now and glances up towards his friend through his lashes.

Peter offers a sheepish laugh, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck at the look the young man gives him.

“You’re late,” Xiǎomíng notes bluntly, heaving a sigh as he props his elbow atop the table surface and rest his chin upon his palm.

“Sorry,” Peter replies, but before he can explain himself, his friend beats him to the punch.

“Let me guess, you got sidetracked because you helped a lost kid find their parents or helped some old lady cross the street.” Although the young man’s words sound accusing, they’re anything but that, judging by the light and almost fond exasperated tone of his voice.

Peter smiles. “Actually, I was getting back the notes I lent to someone from school.”

Xiǎomíng hums thoughtfully. “You’re too nice,” he comments idly. _…Unlike me_, he adds quietly to himself, his expression falling with the self-deprecating thought.

Peter doesn’t respond to the comment and instead changes the subject around. “You look tired,” he notes with a concerned tone as he notices the dark circles around his friend’s eyes.

“Do I now?” Xiǎomíng asks, and as if right on cue, a long yawn tumbles from his mouth which he hides behind his hand.

“…Are the nightmares keeping you up again?” The question is asked in a low voice, barely above that of a worried whisper as he slightly leans forward across the table. It pains him to know that his friend is suffering and that there isn’t much he can do.

“Something like that,” the blond responds vaguely, waving his hand in a dismissive manner in the air. He tries to smile to reassure the other young man, but Peter doesn’t look convinced.

The younger male puffs his cheeks into a small pout. After a beat’s pause, he finally stands up from his seat. “I’m gonna go buy something sweet. What do you want?”

Xiǎomíng scrunches his face. “You don’t have to—”

Peter interrupts him with a stubborn huff, resting his hands on his hips. He was meant to look menacing, but with his usually sweet nature, he ends up looking more cute than anything else. His facial features then relax to a softer look. “Sweets would help wake you up, and they’re good for cheering you up,” he explains.

Xiǎomíng exhales a breathy laugh of defeat. “Fine, I’ll let you decide since you’re the sweets expert.” He makes sure to add a playfully sarcastic roll of his eyes.

Peter laughs as well and gives a satisfied nod of understanding before turning on his heel to buy something. Xiǎomíng allows himself to lean back and relax in his seat, and silence returns once more. But it’s okay. He knows it’s okay because once the silence fades, laughter will take its place. He’ll get there one day.


End file.
